


Not Your Year

by waelsele



Series: The Weepies [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:41:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28116357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waelsele/pseuds/waelsele
Summary: 283 AL, a year of much trial and tribulation in a court on the verge of change.Or, Rhaegar makes a tragedy, his wife makes a king and his lover makes a life.
Relationships: Ashara Dayne/Ned Stark, Lyanna Stark/Rhaegar Targaryen
Series: The Weepies [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2059785
Kudos: 8





	Not Your Year

**Author's Note:**

> Song by The Weepies: [ Not Your Year ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ePPZMmiMy9w)

283 AL

“You might wish to slow your pace.” Rhaegar had a hand under his wife’s elbow and an arm at her back, holding her up. The indignity of a sprawl narrowly avoided, he led her to an empty chair.

“Shouldn’t you be off?” Her question held a great deal of amusement.”You are woefully inadequate at this whole wooing business. If I were that girl, I’d sooner take Baratheon on.”

“Ambitious of you,” he commented in a flat tone. “But I fear that the girl doesn’t share your lofty goals.”

“Indeed, she does not; how could she when she has yours to see to?” Not the first time, he wished the blasted tourney would be over.

*

“How highly you think of yourself.” Elia smiled an easy smile, wreathed in triumph and a dash of her peculiar sort of sly wit. She displayed it for him from time to time, her arch comments hinting at the droll turn of her thoughts whenever she deemed fit to enlighten him. “But then I fancy she is the sort of fool who would fall for such trumpery. So tell me, what did she say about her crown of roses?” Rhaegar raised one eyebrow in a questioning expression. “No reaction? Blue as the ice in her veins, I daresay; at least she will match her flowers.”

*

“I can certainly distract the eldest two,” Ashara offered, looking up from the board, bright red lips curling ever so delightfully into her trademark gentle smile. Her features naturally lent her a distinctively melancholy air. Not that such detracted from her beauty. “The younger one is a problem though; clings to her skirts like the proverbial bur.” Arthur moved one of his pieces, the motion attracting her gaze away. “That is hardly fair, brother; I was speaking to His Grace.” She countered his maneuver with a clever turn all of her own, raising her chin in challenge as soon as she was done.

*

She was laughing behind her hand, hair barely pinned out of her face, but running down her back in a tangled river. None the worse for wear in spite of the evening’s shock, the she-wolf gave a credible performance. She paused to give her companion a meaningful stare before choking on her amusement yet again, face turning away.

Elbert Arryn rescued his sleeve from her clutches and placed one hand at her shoulder as he bent, presumably to whisper to her, which set her off into a fine tremble. Her shoulders shook and shook until she somehow managed to climb to her feet and make haste without.

*

“Oh, some of us are quite easily pleased.” Elia took a sip of her watered wine. “What is the point of making things difficult?” Her level voice, warm and quite sensible, wove its spell. She reminded him of the woman whom he’d met in his mother’s gardens, sweeter than honey. Her enthralled audience seemed to concur, for they praised her good judgment and kindly disposition.

“You Grace is a very fortunate man, say I,” their host’s daughter offered. “I hope we shall soon be attending a tourney for the new babe to come.” He inclined his head, gaze sliding away from Jeyne Whent to another as he pondered the weight of her words.

*

She panted softly, lips gently parted. “How wicked, Your Grace; and the Princess tolerates you still? I am amazed, I confess.” She brought a hand over her heart in a gesture meant to simulate shock. Her eyes laughed, the ice warmed from within. Who had ever heard of such a thing a flame nurtured by frost? “I am flattered,” she declared with quiet honestly in a moment more. “But not nearly enough to forget propriety. Your Grace has a wife and I have a betrothed. Why would I take such a risk as to allow you anything more?” She hadn’t refused him yet thought.

*

“But it is not marriage.” Rickard looked to his ever scheming maester. “How would it looked if I encouraged such a liaison?”

“But it could become marriage.” Walys Flowers brought the tip of his quill to rest upon his writing desk, ink flowing onto the wood. It might stain irreparably. “Targaryens have been known to take more than one wife.”

“And you believe Dorne will give in to such a scheme?” Dorne loved the romance of affairs more so than they did the participants in such entanglements. “Nay; I think they shall oppose us if he make such an attempt.”

“Might be. Let them try.”

*

_I must stress the need for discretion. You understand, naturally, that I cannot claim any knowledge of such an attachment at present. Since it shall doubtlessly take time to calm spirits in the wake of the scheme, you would be well advised to seek out neutral ground upon which to carry her. It should not long now, for my sons are know well enough to respond when they are summoned and I daresay it would serve us all well to have some time to settle matters betwixt us before presenting a united front to the world without. May the gods keep you and my daughter._

*

She wound her fingers through his hair, a slight twinge marking the blooming envy settling within her breast. Those wonderful curls were wasted in the man. Beauty in general was wasted on men, she mused, smothering a giggle so as to not wake Rhaegar. Might be one day she would tell him as much.

For the time being, Lyanna settled more comfortably against the pillow, a fine wince produced by all the wiggling. She certainly hoped the whole business of lying with the man would become easier. She did not relish a prolonged period of tiny pains and aches. If only matters were as easy for women as they were for mares.

*

“It certainly is a pretty sight.” Lyanna resisted the urge to scowl as his words reached her. It was one thing to bed down with him by the faint glow of the moon. It was quite another matter for the man to invade her chamber as she bathed. Her cheeks flushed with heat; she couldn’t tell whether it was her temper which lent her colour of if the heat of the water was getting to her. Lowering further into the water, she curled into herself as he passed by, flicking a few drops of water towards her on his way to settle by the lancet. She didn’t rightly know how to chase him away.

*

That he wanted a daughter didn’t truly bother Lyanna. If she was anything like her mother, her poor father would find it quite a trial to bend her to his will. And that she wished to see; the clash of wills was bound to be a worthy spectacle.

She poked at the egg in her lap, noting the roughness of the scales.

Might be she would give him a son first. Wouldn’t that set tongues to wagging and put noses quite out of joint? It could even be that the child would be the one to find a way beneath the hard scales scarping at the skin of her finger pads.

*

Leaning her head further back, Lyanna luxuriated in the drawn out motions of the comb gliding through her hair. “What word from King’s Landing? I don’t doubt your absence has been noted by now.” Just as hers must have been; she hoped father managed to get word to Brandon in time. The last thing she needed was her fool of a brother sauntering off after her.

“All goes as well as can be expected.” She closed her eyes against the feeling and considered his answer. It was not much of one, she decided, proceeding to pepper him with questions. He seemed to allow it.

*

A faint pounding in her temples woke Lyanna. She turned into Rhaegar wondering at the sensation of skin grown too tight to contain her. Rising the back of her fingers to her forehead, she smoothed them over the slightly moist skin. In response, the pain flared. She shook her head and breathed in dry air crackling with dust.

She missed the soothing scents of home. The far south was not for her, it would seem. Pressing her forehead into Rhaegar’s shoulder, she forced her eyes closed. His presence wasn’t quite home to her yet, but it was better than nothing. Lyanna drew breath.

*

Her breath came out in shallow gasps. The tightness in her chest continued to narrow its way about her heart. Pressing a hand to the spot in the hopes of dispelling the pressure, she bit back a whine. “Lyanna, stop now.” Rhaegar’s voice came to her as though from a great distance. But his hold was firm on her wrist and he had no difficulty forcing her hand away. Furthermore, he lifted her up with nary a struggle, helping her sit up. “Drink.” She felt something cool against her lips but felt too faint to accommodate the command.

The next she knew was the pressure of his mouth upon hers, liquid and cooling. A drop of water trickled down her chin.

*

“That would be unwise. She doesn’t look like she might carry it well.” Arthur stared at him with pleading eyes. “Go; we shall look after her. That much we are capable of, I assure you.” Rhaegar considered the matter for the length of one whole heartbeat before refusing in as firm a manner as he could.

“I take her with me. The rest I leave in the hands of the gods. Find a cart.” Surprised crossed his friend’s features.

“Would not a wheelhouse be better?” If he weren’t so worried, he might have agreed that her arrival should be marked by the proper pomp and circumstance.

*

She sounded pitiful, alternating between heaving and choking. There was nowhere near enough moisture for her to even manage tears. “I know, my love, I know,” he soothed, running his hand down her back. The protruding vertebrae worried. Lyanna pressed her forehead against his shoulder feebly in a familiar gesture. He stopped himself from embracing her. Any pressure seemed to cause her undue suffering. The sooner they were on their way the better. “I will do my best to see to it all matters are settled as we wish them. Trust me.”

Shallow breath brushed against his collarbone. “I do.” Her lips were chapped.

*

“I am hardly qualified for such tasks.” Elia huffed softly, holding her son to her breast. “A septa would serve you better. I am told they care for the sickly and the dying with much skill.” Aegon mewled softly. “Besides, Your Grace, we agreed she was to be kept out of the way.”

“If she dies–“

“There are other women in the realm.” She regarded him with a steely gaze. “Or have you perhaps lost your sense along with your heart? You men; useless, the lot of you. Help her however you deem fit, Your Grace, and I shall keep well away, as this is none of my affair.”

*

“I do not understand.” Rhaegar pinned the grand maester with a hard stare. “If she were poisoned, would it not have affected the babe first?” He held Lyanna’s hand, watching over her in uneasy slumber. Wasted as she was, she seemed little more than a bag of bones, with the exception of her obvious round middle. Bony fingers twitched over his the back of his hand, nails digging into a paper-thin veneer; at least she had enough strength to do that still. Something to be grateful for, at least.

“Begging pardon, Your Grace, but that is not a child growing within her. It cannot be.”

*

“There has to be something.” Rhaella looked up at the tone of her son’s voice. She paused, needle struck through the thin linen she’d been embroidering with such care. A man ought not to be so greedy. But she could not counsel him; best to leave him to the struggle. He would never listen. In that, at least, he was very much his father’s son. “Someone has to know of a way.” A pity he’d not dedicated himself to the study of cures. He might have known what to do then. She stared down at the rose pattern lining the square bit of linen critically. Might be some more golden thread.

*

“Well, well, your poor thing.” Elia patted her hand in the gentlest manner. “I hate to see you suffer like this. I hate to see anyone suffering.” Kindly dark eyes encompassed her in a weightless embrace. How good of her to have come. Lyanna managed a soft sound. “Here, let me give you some water.” She missed the taste of wine. Lyanna swallowed past her raw throat, wondering how long she would manage to keep the offering down. “There we are. Rest now; I am determined to write your family of the progress we are making.” She had best advise them to prepare her a spot in the crypts.

*

“In this advanced stage it would surely kill her.” Rhaella blinked at the vague distress she heard in the other woman’s voice. “Nay, better to leave her be. Her father shall have arrived before the moon is past. Let her family bear the burden that is the girl’s end.”

“She is dead either way.” And so she was. The grand maester thought it. Her good-daughter claimed it. Even her stubborn son accepted it. “This way, at least, she may be spared some pain.” It would be no difficult matter to bring her some moon tea. “Shall I ask her if she’d be willing to take it?”

*

“Oh, so I should just die if I am of no use?” The raspy voice rankled. Rhaella kept a carefully veiled expression upon her face nevertheless. “Was His Grace not brave enough to ask me of his own?” She had those bright feverish eyes of the dying. Lady Lyanna cocked her head to the side.

“I doubt my son would ever ask that.” Observing the bright spots burning in the girl’s cheeks, Rhaella softened her demeanour. “You must see there is nothing left.” Tears welled up in the other’s eyes. “A few sips and before long it will all be over. I promise.”

*

“Have you gone mad?” Ashara wrung her hand and shot her brother a pleading look. “Do you realize what you’ve done?”

“Of course I do; but what else could I have done? You know we cannot bear to see her and to tell him of this would certainly give rise to too much trouble. Just as long as we can keep her quiet, I am certain I can see to the babe.” If it survived. Somehow. She doubted it would. But she had to try. “He doesn’t have to lose them both.”

“The thing is done; what can I do but acquiesce?”

*

“There is only one thing that matters in this life.” Rhaegar met his father’s gaze squarely. “And that is what a man can do and what a man cannot do.” The piece moved over the board, bringing him closer to victory over his sire. “For instance, I can accept my defeat here,” he nodded to their game, “or not. In which case, I shall do this.” He brought out a dragon. It was an easy enough matter to sweep away the paltry defence.

He won.

He did not feel as though he had won.

His spirits sunk low, and lower after that.

*

She felt lightheaded and unreal, almost as though the sheer reality anywhere beyond a spit’s distance would eject her in a realm of the imaginary. Almost as though she had been dreaming all along and was slowly coming to. The weight in her arms was lifted. Rather another pair of arms awaited under her. Dark violet eyes framed by too-dark hair filled her vision. “He looks little like his father. That is good.” Lyanna silently agreed, the last of her strength drawing into a final concrete thought; he would not fall as his father had. Nor would be fail as she had.

*

The uselessness of tears could not be overstated. Rhaegar clung to the cold corpse, wising, quite as though in a bad piece of mummery, that he might give up the ghost with a flick of his wrist. But to shed one’s mortal coil was no small matter. The dull throb in his throat warned of another sob.

He had to get up. He told himself he couldn’t simply lie there and continue with his mourning. It was disgraceful, beneath him in any event. Her family would take a body back, it appeared, and that would be so much more than he had. But then she had loved the North.

*

“It would certainly make for a most fascinating tale.” Her good-sister smiled softly at the small creature in the wicker basket. “Poor thing; are you certain you wish to take him on? It is no easy thing, being a mother.”

Were it not for her, the babe wouldn’t even be alive. It seemed only fair that she should take responsibility. “Who else is there for him? Both his mother and sire are gone now.”

Lady Dayne leaned back in her seat. “You must give him a good name. Something strong and stubborn. Unyielding.” Her fingers ghosted over a dark curl, her expression wistful.

*

“Don’t look at me with those eyes.” Elia tasked softly at her brother. “I have done well. Better than you had any right to expect after all my fool of a husband did.”

“You might have let him live a while longer.” She shrugged. “Were you that upset?”

“My, what a thought. He was pining. You know I hate suffering, so I gave him a hand. Now we all have what we wished for.” She stroked the light curls of her son’s head. “Aegon the sixth of his name; how well that sounds.” She had the only crown that mattered. Rhaegar had his love. And that girl; well, she hadn’t the faintest what that one had wanted.

*

Arthur deposited the small box at the lady’s feet. He didn’t doubt Rhaegar would have found the whole morbid thing a most fitting conclusion. Lord Stark had his hands clasped before him, observing a moment o f silence most solemnly. The stone lid lowered, sealing away both ash and bone.

“Shall we press on with matters of the living?” the Warden asked gently after sufficient time had passed. “My middle son was most persistent. He truly wishes the whole business be concluded swiftly.” Were he not able to see the vague moistness in the man’s eyes, Arthur would have though him a cold man indeed.

*

“Is this him?” Ned leaned over the crib, eyeing the sleeping mite with undisguised interest. His hand paused above the boy’s head. Suddenly shy, he turned to stare at the woman standing in the doorway. The nursery was a spacious enough chamber it would take him a googly amount of steps to close the distance between them. “I cannot think of anything which might repay the debt we owe you?”

“You could always offer yourself, ser. I would not refuse.” He felt his face heat up. Ned returned his gaze to the boy. “I would, naturally, wish to have my son with me. But only if you could bear the vicious rumours.”

**Author's Note:**

> I plan a short few pieces vaguely based off of songs by The Weepies. Here's to hoping the first one passes muster.


End file.
